


In The Dark

by dracoqueen22



Series: Defiance [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Canon, Bondage, Humiliation, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Suspension, blindfolding, gagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4042615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orion worried that he was getting used to them, that by the end, he would only be a shadow of his former self.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Dark

Orion onlined to darkness but that was so commonplace as to be normal by now. He wasn't even sure if he could call it onlining. He never really recharged. He dozed. He dropped into a twilight-state. But he didn't recharge.  
  
How much time had passed?  
  
It was impossible to know without sight and sound. They'd disabled his audials and his optics. His chronometer didn't work. They deactivated that a long time ago. More than deactivated, it had been removed. There was an itch in his processor where he missed the time-keeper. It made every onlining a little more disorientating than the last.  
  
He didn't know how long had passed since they'd brought him here, to the Winglord's tower, where he felt the heat and light of Hadeen upon his plating, but never saw it anymore.  
  
He worked his jaw, loosening his mouth from a clench. Discomfort was a permanent state of being now. The bit of spherical rubber between his denta kept him open, kept him humiliated. He couldn’t stop the oral lubricant from leaking out of his mouth if he tried. The straps used to ache where they wrapped around his helm.  
  
He'd been here long enough that he'd grown used to that discomfort.  
  
Orion squirmed, a token attempt to break free of his bonds. The motion set him into a light sway and his tanks churned. Grounders weren't meant to free fall. They were meant to keep their pedes and their tires firmly on solid ground.  
  
Still trapped. Still bound. Still shackled. Nothing different. Nothing changed.  
  
Was he alone? Impossible to tell.  
  
He went through his routine.  
  
His wrists were cuffed behind him, at the base of his spinal strut, but he could flex his fingers. The straps wound around his chassis kept him suspended. He did have enough room to roll his shoulders though. He turned his helm left and right, lifted it up and down, stretching out the cramped cables surrounding his intake.  
  
More straps wound about his legs, helping support his mass. His thighs were spread, his knees bent, his pedes pointed toward the ceiling. But he could roll his ankles and Orion did so. By shifting his weight, he could rock his frame forward, brace his weight on his chestplate, and wriggle his aft a little.  
  
It was humiliating, but the act stretched out his hip joints and eased the ache. The relief was worth the risk that someone was watching him, taking joy in his struggle.  
  
The worst part was the motion jostled the object firmly entrenched in his valve. It pressed against his internal sensors, reawakening them after a long time spent in idle. A jolt of pleasure rippled through Orion's array, igniting his system. His valve calipers stirred, clamping down on the ridged false spike.  
  
He no longer had control of his own systems. His spike, too, had been locked within his array, a thin rod down the center channel. He hated when they made him use it. When they rode his spike, demanded his pleasure, and mocked him for his inability to withhold his release.  
  
Try as he might, Orion could not engage his panel and encourage it open. They'd left him like this, with the massive spike lodged in his valve, and his cover closed behind it. He could not say for how long.  
  
Sometimes, they were crueler. Sometimes, they left him with the vibration settings on. It sent a constant stream of pleasure through his array, left him writhing and dripping and begging. His words fell on deaf audials, their owners enjoying the sight of his struggle.  
  
His tanks clenched. They reminded him that he was low on energon. He hadn't refueled since, well, since the last time they came to call. Orion didn't know how long ago it was, but he could remember the sweetness of the mid-grade they'd poured into his mouth. He remembered how it felt sliding over his glossa and down his intake. He remembered the dizzying happiness suffusing his frame as the energy hit his tanks.  
  
They'd used him for hours afterward and he'd been so grateful for the energon, he hadn't put up a fight.  
  
He supposed that was all part of their plan. To make him grateful. To make him eager for the next touch. Pliant.  
  
He should have never gone to the surface. He should have listened to Kup and Ironhide. He should have--  
  
There was a whoosh of displaced air, a change in the currents ghosting against his legs. Orion froze. He knew what that sensation meant. One of the doors had been opened. He had visitors. His masters come to call.  
  
The barest sense of a field contact wisped against his own. Orion braced himself. He never knew what they would do first. Sometimes, they announced themselves with pain. Other times with pleasure. Worse times, neither, when they watched their pet swing and squirm in his restraints, driven to the point of begging.  
  
A hand whispered up the inside of his thighs, a bare tickle of touch that caressed his plating and traced a seam.  
  
A distressed bleat of noise escaped Orion.  
  
Another hand touched his helm. Fingers dragged down the crest and pinched the tip of his antennae. And then sound rushed back in.  
  
He counted them – one, two, and three – different and distinct ventilating rhythms. He heard their systems cycling around him. He felt their fields, crowding against his, one more cutting than the others. That one – Thundercracker – was methodical in his torture.  
  
Skywarp, however, was careless. Incidental. Creative even.  
  
Starscream was cruel. He pretended to be kind. He was the worst.  
  
A hand cupped Orion's face and a thumb stroked his cheek, brushing over the strap. This one, he knew, must be Starscream. Orion tilted his helm into the gentle touch, a part of him desperate for it.  
  
Grounders lived in darkness. They were used to darkness. But they were not used to solitude. He did not like being left alone. It was worse than anything else.  
  
“Are you hungry, pet?”  
  
Confirmation. That purring rasp was Starscream. His vocals were distinctive, husky when low, a painful screech when angered. And he was angry often.  
  
Orion nodded.  
  
“Of course you are.”  
  
Fingers scraped at his cheeks. He heard a click and the straps around his helm loosened. Fingers pushed between his lips and the gag, working it free of his mouth. Orion groaned his relief as the gag was removed, not that he had long to relish it.  
  
He smelled energon and had a moment to crave it before two fingers pushed into his mouth, sliding against his glossa. They were slick and sticky, a sweet taste dancing across his olfactory sensors.  
  
Orion moaned and closed his mouth around the two fingers. They were covered in energon and he licked them clean, sucking on them to get every drop of energon out of the joints. He knew this game. He'd played it before.  
  
The energon trickled down his intake and into his tanks. Mixed with his oral lubricants, it was a mere dribble, but the effect was dizzying. Little spikes of energy that made him tremble, made him focus only on the fingers in his mouth and Primus above him, petting his helm, too. Petting his finials and his audials, so very gentle.  
  
Frag Starscream to the underneath.  
  
Orion jerked as someone touched his valve panel, stroking around the seams of it. He'd been so focused on Starscream, he'd neglected to be aware of his other senses.  
  
“Ah, ah,” the mech said. “Don't move.”  
  
It was Skywarp. Orion cringed. Skywarp was unpredictable. It was impossible to tell whether obeying or resisting was what he wanted.  
  
It occurred to him that he did not hear Thundercracker. Once again, it seemed, he would not be taking part. The pale blue Seeker preferred to silently watch until it came to be his turn. He did not like to share. His favorite torments were best issued under his control.  
  
It wasn't a mercy.  
  
It only meant that once Starscream and Skywarp were done, it would be Thundercracker's turn.  
  
Orion tried his best to keep still. The hand traced around his valve and over the cap on his spike. Two taps to the cap made Orion jerk, the vibrations traveling down the rod and radiating through his transfluid channel.  
  
Skywarp giggled. “Did that hurt?” he asked. Not that Orion could answer.  
  
His hand resumed its torment, again and again, dragging up curls of static with each lingering caress to Orion's array.  
  
Skywarp's other hand roamed Orion's aft and clawed fingers dug into his seams, pricking at the lines and cables beneath. He felt their sting, the small driblets of energon seeping free. He didn't have that to spare, frag it.  
  
But then Starscream drew his fingers from Orion's mouth and patted his cheek. “Do you want more energon, pet?” he asked.  
  
Orion worked his jaw and his intake. It took a couple tries for his vocalizer to initialize.  
  
“Will I actually get some?” he asked, and his vocals were so hoarse he almost didn't recognize them. Had it truly been that long since he'd spoken?  
  
Starscream chuckled and Orion felt the ghost of the Winglord's ex-vents against his audial. “Depends on how well you behave, pet.”  
  
“My name is Orion.”  
  
“You haven't earned a name yet,” Skywarp said.  
  
There was a poke and Orion felt his valve panel slide open, lubricant immediately dripping free and making a mess on the floor. If they condescended to lower him, they'd probably make him clean that up. His tanks gurgled.  
  
“I don't need to earn one. It was always mine,” Orion retorted. He licked his lips, gathering the last of the energon from them.  
  
“Grounder names are worthless,” Skywarp said with a sniff. “They have no meaning.”  
  
“Now, now, Skywarp. No need to insult him. I”m sure our pet is quite proud of his name,” Starscream crooned. He stroked Orion's finials again, pinching the very tips of them between his claws.  
  
Orion twitched. And startled when fire blazed across his aft. Skywarp had smacked him!  
  
“I said not to move,” Skywarp snapped and two of his fingers worked in beside the toy in Orion's valve. He pulled, stretching the rim of it. A low grade burn rose in Orion's array.  
  
Orion moaned. His helm would have sagged if Starscream hadn't grabbed his chin, keeping it tilted up.  
  
Starscream clicked his glossa. “You are having difficulty obeying today, pet. Is punishment in order?”  
  
Orion cringed. “No, Winglord.” If he'd been on his pedes, he'd have bowed.  
  
Punishment was worse. Though it was hard to imagine anything worse, punishment often meant pain. And things that were more terrifying than pain.  
  
“I didn't think so.” Starscream stroked his cheek with a thumb. “Behave and I might be inclined to be generous today. Would you like that, pet?”  
  
“Yes, Winglord.”  
  
Skywarp pulled the toy out of his valve and Orion clenched his denta. His calipers twitched, trying to cycle down on something no longer present, and Orion fought to keep from squirming. Even when two fingers slid into his valve with ease, poking all around as though mapping out the sensors.  
  
“Would you like to service me, pet?” Starscream continued. “Would you beg to be given that honor?”  
  
Orion balked. He hated this particular game, though it was one of Starscream's favorites. It was as sour on his glossa as the taste of their transfluid. The humiliation burned every time. It never got easier.  
  
He nervously licked his lips. “Yes, Winglord.”  
  
Starscream's vocals dipped into a deeper purr, one that resonated against Orion's audials. “What would you like to do for me, pet? Would you take my spike? Would you be grateful for it?”  
  
A shudder rippled across Orion's plating. “Yes,” he said and his vocals cracked, static tearing away all strength from them. “I... I...”  
  
“Go on,” Starscream purred. His field reached out, stroking a long, soft caress down Orion's own.  
  
Coming from a lover, Orion would have leaned into it. He would have reached out to meet it, twined eagerly, pulsed encouragement and lust. As it was, all he did was recoil more. His shivering increased, especially when Skywarp added two more fingers and let his thumb scrape over Orion's frontal nub.  
  
It felt good and Orion hated that it felt good. Hated the lazy heat that coiled in his array and sent tiny crackles of charge along his sensory lines.  
  
“I would kneel before you, Winglord,” Orion forced out.  
  
He remembered the words. He knew what Starscream wanted to hear. He'd memorized it. It had overwritten part of his priority trees.  
  
“I would worship your panel with the adoration you deserve,” Orion continued, and it was getting easier to speak on rote, to recite the words that clawed at his processor every time.  
  
“I would beg that you extend your spike, that I should taste the mercy you offer me.”  
  
Starscream's approval radiated from his field. If Orion could see him, he'd be sure that the tri-colored Seeker would be smirking. His wings would be high and proud, showing off the markings that denoted his station.  
  
“And I would be grateful for...” Orion choked on the word, a hitch developing in his ventilations. His vocals weren't close to loud enough to drown out the squelch of Skywarp's fingers in his valve. “For...”  
  
“Yes, my pet?” Starscream crooned and his fingers stroked distracting patterns over Orion's helm. He teased the length of a finial and rubbed the tip of it between the pads of his digits. Static sparked.  
  
Orion shuddered and moaned. The heat coiling within him tightened. Skywarp rubbed and rubbed over his exterior node, his fingers plunging in and out of Orion's valve. It was hard to think, hard to focus. His tanks kept clenching, screaming at him.  
  
The energon from Starscream's fingers had been nothing but a tease.  
  
“For what?” Starscream demanded, sterner this time. Orion knew if he had to ask a third time, there would be consequences.  
  
He cycled a ventilation.  
  
“For the honor of servicing your spike,” Orion said, no amount of reboots enough to clear the static from his vocalizer, “And the sustenance it provides me. Because I am a grounder, unworthy of anything but a place at your pedes.”  
  
His vents clicked and Orion panted as though the words had taken what remained of his strength.  
  
“That's right,” Starscream purred and his field caressed along Optimus', ripe with approval. “That is where you belong, my pet. At my pedes.”  
  
Skywarp snorted a ventilation. “I'd wager he belongs beneath them but that's just me.” His fingers removed themselves from Orion's valve.  
  
He gasped, his calipers twitching at the abrupt departure. Tingling spread through his array as cool air rushed against his heated valve. His spike throbbed in its enclosure, pushing at the confines of its housing. It was uncomfortable, but Orion didn't have the energy to beg for it today. Not when he was still hungry.  
  
Starscream, at least, rewarded him for his submission. One of his hands abandoned Orion's helm and when it returned, two of his fingers were once again dripping with energon. Light and sweet, it bubbled on his glossa.  
  
Orion sucked them into mouth, far too eager for his own comfort, and licked them clean. He sucked every last drop from the joints. He made noises of pleasure. He tried to show, as best he could, how grateful he was.  
  
He made an embarrassing noise when Starscream removed his fingers, and the humiliation further burned when Starscream patted his helm.  
  
“Good pet,” he said.  
  
And then the world dropped out from beneath Orion.  
  
It was so sudden that his tank leapt into his intake, his spark flared with fear, and he was certain, this time, they were going to let him fall. He cried out, thrashing in his straps, but his frame jerked, caught by the bindings. The chains rattled, echoing in his audials.  
  
It happened in an instant and Orion hated himself for his moment of panic. Because they'd played this game so many times before he should have come to expect it. But still, every time, it was a fresh terror.  
  
Skywarp snickered. “Grounders are so stupid.”  
  
“Now, now, Skywarp. No need to insult him.”  
  
Orion bit back a sob. His fuel pump was racing and it was impossible to strip the terror from his field. He couldn't see, frag it. Couldn't see how high or low he was. Didn't even know for sure there was ground beneath him. Seekers didn't need to walk. They could hover on their thrusters.  
  
Hands cradled his helm, thumbs sweeping over a cheek arch.  
  
“Shush, pet. It's only a game.”  
  
Orion turned his helm away, trying to rip it free of Starscream's grip, but the Seeker was much stronger than him. Taller and larger and heavier and faster. Starscream outclassed him in every way.  
  
“My favorite one,” Skywarp purred and Orion felt hands on his aft.  
  
They slid up and over, shamelessly groping him. Something wide lodged between his legs, forcing his thighs further apart, and the blunt pressure of a spike nosed against his valve.  
  
Orion worked his intake. He almost longed for the orns when they thought it beneath them to interface with a grounder. When they would only violate him with toys and objects he couldn't identify. Back then, they hadn't stolen his vision. He'd still had his transformation cog. Back then, he'd been more himself.  
  
Skywarp pushed into him, the pleats of Orion's valve yielding to the Seeker's thicker spike. The false one they left in him kept him stretched, but it was never enough. Skywarp inched inside of him, raking every sensor with a steady pleasure, and there was just enough of it wrecking his systems that Orion overloaded.  
  
It wasn't quite pleasure, but it didn't qualify as pain either. Orion shuddered in his restraints, vents cycling out heat too slowly for his comfort. His valve rippled around Skywarp's spike, dragging a moan from the Seeker.  
  
“TC, you're missing out,” Skywarp said.  
  
“I will have my turn,” came the sonorous response, proving that Thundercracker had not left after all.  
  
“Indeed you will.” Starscream grip tightened on Orion's face. “Especially since I believe you're only allowed to overload with permission. Is that not right, pet?”  
  
Orion gnawed on his bottom lip. Thundercracker's punishments were far more painful than the others. “Yes, Winglord.”  
  
“And yet, you disobeyed.”  
  
The apology leapt to his glossa, but this time, he bit it back. Hadn't he suffered for them? Hadn't he abased himself for their pleasure enough? Had he not earned his fuel? Or a reprieve?  
  
Skywarp had filled him completely and was now grinding against his ceiling node. Too sensitive, it was more irritating than pleasurable. It made his hips squirm and forced Skywarp to tighten his grip as he made a noise of displeasure.  
  
The tips of Starscream's claws pressed against Orion's cheek ridge, pricking his dermal plate. “Answer me, pet.”  
  
Orion opened his mouth, but what emerged was a sharp cry as Skywarp snapped his hips, slamming into him. His spike drew snaps of static; his claws pricked into Orion's seams. The thin tip of one pushed between cables, scraping at his substructure.  
  
“Please,” Orion gasped out. He drew his hands into fists, his shoulders aching, his hips screaming for relief. “Please just let me go.”  
  
“Not an option, grounder,” Skywarp said, his ventilations staggered as he slammed into Orion, again and again. “You belong to us now. You're where you belong.”  
  
“No, I don't!” Orion said, louder this time. He thrashed in the ropes. Though his motions were limited, it was enough to cause their hold on him to tighten. “I'm a free mech. I don't belong to anyone but myself! I'm not your toy!”  
  
Skywarp shoved into him again and held himself there, pulsing hard against the back of Orion's valve, an almost painful pressure. “You are whatever we say you are! Starscream, shut it up for frag's sake. I can't concentrate when it's whining like that.”  
  
“I believe you're at fault for riling him up,” Starscream said with a sigh and his hands slid around Orion's face, thumbs sliding into Orion's mouth.  
  
He snarled, thrashing again, when he heard the shift of weight and hydraulics hissing. Then warm, blunt pressure against his lips. He smelled arousal, the scent of transfluid. The thumbs hooked in his mouth, parted his lips, held them wide, and Starscream pushed into his mouth.  
  
Orion's jaw was forced wide, stretching around the girth. The urge to bite down, leave impressions of his denta in the dermal plating, struck him. It was almost worth the consequences, save that Starscream's spike was so wide that it wedged Orion's mouth open, made it difficult for him to clench his jaw.  
  
Orion moaned and went limp in their hold. Starscream's fingers slid from his mouth and returned to cupping his helm, one holding him place as he slid deeper.  
  
Orion knew, to the depth of his spark, that he'd lost his chance for true energon this time. Misbehavior resulted in a loss of privileges.  
  
All he'd get to sate his hunger was whatever his tanks could glean from Starscream's transfluid. And if Skywarp took his mouth next, he'd be lucky for Skywarp's transfluid as well. Anything to ease the ache.  
  
Thundercracker would give him nothing. He would torture and drive Orion mad with sensation, but he never used Orion. Not like the others.  
  
The Seekers wouldn't kill him. Orion still didn't know why they wanted him alive. He couldn’t be that entertaining as a toy. But they would hurt him, they would humiliate him. They used and abused him and made him wish he were dead.  
  
They wouldn't starve him to death. But they would leave him suspended, his tanks clenching with need, the demand for energy driving him mad. His processor would swim from the hunger. His lesser systems would shut down, go numb. It would enclose him in the suffocating darkness.  
  
It was an effective technique. It worked. Because by the time they deigned to feed him, Orion would be as meek as a sparkling. He'd open his mouth and he'd beg and he'd be grateful for every drip of energon, no matter how far he had to grovel to get it.  
  
“Better,” Skywarp said, and his thrusts began again, this time in earnest. His field flared, swamping Orion's with such force that his own quailed against his frame. Cowered, like all grounders were meant to do when the lords of the sky flew overhead.  
  
Starscream forced him further down the Winglord's spike, until the head of Starscream's spike bumped the back of Orion's intake.  
  
Couldn't move. Could barely ventilate. Trapped between them. Humiliated. Used.  
  
He worried that he was getting used to it. He worried that by the end, there would be only a shadow left of Orion Pax.  
  
Orion shook. A sound rose in his intake that he was embarrassed to call a whimper. His spark quivered.  
  
And Starscream's free hand cupped his face, gentle for all that he was slowly fragging Orion's intake. He stroked Orion's cheek and crooned at him, subvocally.  
  
Of it all, Orion knew Starscream would break him first.  
  


***

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Training Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4261980) by [dracoqueen22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22)




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